


Broken Together

by R_B_Bloom



Series: Brothers in every way but blood [5]
Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Also mildly concussed, Author had abandonment issues, Child Neglect, Daddy Issues, Friendship, Good Friend John B. Routledge, Hurt JJ (Outer Banks), Hurt John B, I was unsurprisingly under the influence when I wrote some of this, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JJ (Outer Banks) Needs a Hug, John B. Routledge Needs a Hug, Pre-Season/Series 01, Recreational Drug Use, Sadness, So the characters do too, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and they're emotionally constipated, dads are just dickheads man, hurt/little comfort, these boys are idiots, they needa find a healthy way to communicate their feelings, unstable home lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_B_Bloom/pseuds/R_B_Bloom
Summary: Wordlessly, he sits down beside JJ on the dock, accepting the half-smoked joint silently offered to him.  He takes a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, before he exhales slowly, focusing his gaze on the blazing sun. The sun washes him and JJ in a glorious golden light, its harsh rays radiating off their bronzed bodies. It makes John B’s dark circles look like art, and JJ’s scars like poetry.or, a look into how our favourite idiots deal with their trauma
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge, JJ (Outer Banks) & John B. Routledge, John B. Routledge & Big John
Series: Brothers in every way but blood [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748947
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	Broken Together

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even going to try and justify my shitty posting schedule this time around. I'm not sure how well this turned out, but I highkey destroyed myself trying to perfect this so I'm actually really nervous to be posting this. I've been struggling a lot lately, and writing this fic has really helped motivate me to keep going, but in saying that, my writing might not be the best. I'm working on improving myself, and I slowly am, but at the end of the day it's a really gruelling and draining process, which my work might reflect. I really wanted to explore more of John B's relationship with his dad in this one due to the fact that I really think it helped shape his character and the way he deals with his emotions, so I hope that comes across. It wouldn't be one of my fanfics without some classic JJ whump in there though, so there's plenty of that too. John B's breakdown towards the end is also actually inspired by one of the forms my panic attacks take, and some of his inner dialogue is also deprived by my own fear of abandonment. Anyway, I'm bit high and rambling, so I hope you enjoy!

JJ’s body glistens under the pale glow of the midnight moon; dark, angry bruises pronounced against his scarred porcelain skin.

Noises of discomfort escape his clenched teeth despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous, hot, white pain spreading like wildfire over his skin. His body feels like dead weight, the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other near unviable.

The track towards John B’s feels excruciating, the over-grown vegetation pressing up against the angry lacerations dancing across his already damaged body. JJ squints against the darkness of a pre-dawn sky, his eyes zeroing in on the mud-caked work boots he adorns.

_Step. Step. Step._ JJ feels blood rushing to his head the longer he stares at his feet, but he can’t bring himself to care. If he trips on some random junk in the grass, he knows he’ll fall. And if he falls, JJ doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to get back up.

A high-pitch burst of wind breaks through the palpable silence encasing JJ, the cool gust of air causing him to draw his arms tighter around himself at a poor attempt of self-comfort.

The grip he has on his biceps tightens, desperately willing himself to hold it together once more. He can feel himself slowly coming undone with each late-night escape from Luke’s house, his hold tightening each time, as if that would stop him from falling apart.

JJ was like a broken mirror, seven years of bad luck and all.

JJ trusts John B. He was the first person that provided him refuge, the face that surfaces to the forefront of his mind when the world ‘safety’ is mentioned. JJ trusts John B, but he also knows John B. Knows that if he cracks in front of John B, he would rush to try and glue the splintered pieces of JJ back together.

JJ learnt long ago that John B likes to play the hero, but JJ refuses to let him cut himself on JJ’s jagged edges, trying to fix something JJ knows is far beyond repair. 

Another gust of cool air succeeds in bringing JJ back to reality, who hoists his backup higher over his less injured shoulder as he redirects his focus to the task at hand.

JJ’s not entirely sure what’s in his bag. A few shirts and shorts maybe, some shoes if he’s lucky, but the contents of the bag didn’t really matter. He just needs to escape his dad, sleep in a place where his heart isn’t racing and his hands aren’t shaking.

And, most importantly, he needs to get to the fucking chateau faster.

JJ can feel his body beginning to give out. The faulter in his step, the steady trembling of his hands. Tears of pain continue to blind him despite his efforts to blink them away, the throbbing of his body increasing with each passing minute. 

A heaviness surrounds his body, weighing down on his increasingly weakening limbs. Re-opening his eyes is becoming harder each time he blinks, his pained breaths coming out in short, irregular bursts.

The grip he has on his biceps will surely leave bruises, but JJ doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if he can’t hold it together for the last hundred or so metres of his journey.

For the first time that night, the universe finally seems to cut JJ some slack, with the chateau appearing within his line of sight. JJ could have dropped and cried tears of pure relief right then and there, but he knew better than to stop moving. The chateau appeared almost angelic, seemingly surrounded by a bright, artificial glow.

JJ’s never believed in generic bullshit, but right now ( _and forever_ ), the chateau is JJ’s light at the end of the tunnel.

That light soon dims, however, as JJ spots Big John through the grimy window located near the kitchen, his eyes focused on a piece of paper held in his hand. _Fuck._ In his rush to escape his father’s rage, JJ completely forgot that Big John had returned to the chateau a few days prior, intent on informing John B about his latest royal merchant lead.

It had always been an unspoken rule between JJ and John B that JJ’s home life was never to be brought to the attention of any adult.

Despite common belief, JJ Maybank isn’t an idiot.

Yes, maybe the words in his school textbooks like to move and jump, and maybe JJ can’t comprehend the basics of algebra II, but he’s far more observant than people give him credit for.

Growing up in such a dangerous environment, he was kind of forced to be.

He knows what happens to foster kids. He’s known kids that have gone in the system. They’ve gone in there fighting and come out a mere shell of the kid they use to be, if they’re lucky enough to get out at all.

So yeah, telling Big John wasn’t even remotely an option.

JJ can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes him as blood suddenly rushes to his head, stars dancing before his teary sapphire eyes. Grinding his teeth together, JJ crouches down beside the tree he had been previously leaning against, his stomach threatening to revolt as the world spun around him.

_‘It would be so easy just to crash here for the night,’_ a voice whispered from the back of JJ’s head, _‘set up camp, call it a night. Come on, you’ve been walking for ages, just a quick power nap.’_

JJ had to admit, that voice was pretty persuading. Everything hurt so much, and walking here took so much energy, and he just wants to _fucking_ sleep. Retreat to the blissful land of nothingness. He could escape the pain, the exhaustion, forget his father’s venomous words and pretend his body wasn’t a canvas for his father’s fists.

He could lay here without being prodded and poked and questioned, doesn’t have to put on a mask to convince John B that _‘I’m fine dude, really, you don’t need to worry.’_

Here, beneath the naked eye of the cosmos, JJ could be as broken as he wanted to be.

But another voice, persistent and grating yet annoyingly logical, is telling JJ to _‘get your ass to the other side of the house.’_ That voice, ironically, sounds a lot like John B.

And, as much as JJ wants to collapse then and there, he knows that the John B voice is right.

_Fuck you, John B,_ JJ thinks as he forces himself to his feet, groaning when the world continues to sway.

JJ breathes in deeply through his nostrils before forcing his body to move forward, his feet feeling more like bricks than flesh and bone. _Just a few more steps,_ JJ thinks, _you can’t pussy out now._

After what feels like hours, but was probably only a matter of seconds, JJ reaches the side of the house, pressing his back against the wooden exterior of the chateau as he swallows down another wave of nausea. He can feel his eyes begin to close as the exhaustion of his journey suddenly intensifies, the fatigue running deep into his bones.

_Just get to the window,_ the John B voice encourages, _then you can sleep._

_Get to the window, get to the window, get to window._ It’s the only cognitive thought JJ’s brain can string together, repeated in his ears like a prayer. His surroundings fade in and out of focus as his body moves on autopilot, driven by nothing except sheer desperation for safety ( _for John B)_.

Despite being the most exhausted he can ever remember being, JJ still manages to pull enough energy out of his ass to step up on the crate situated outside John B’s bedroom window.

Ironically enough, that crate was originally used by JJ and John B to sneak out of the chateau when Big John actually gave a shit, not for JJ to sneak in when he’s seconds away from passing out.

Fuck _,_ JJ thinks, John B and him really were fated to be friends.

JJ got stuck with an abusive parent, and John B with an absent one, and somehow, whether it be destiny or sheer dumb luck, they found each other.

Through a whirlwind of heartbreak and tears, of bruises and empty promises and neglect, they guided each other, and from the ashes of two failed parent-child relationships, a true family emerged.

A fucked up family, sure, with both JJ and John B plagued with abandonment issues and lasting psychological damage, but a family nevertheless. JJ considers Kiara and Pope family too, there’s no doubt about that, but he knows that they have lives ahead of them, futures.

Futures that, as depressing as it may be, will very likely not accommodate their friendship with JJ.

They’ll always care about him, always love him, but will probably be too focused on making something of themselves to set aside much time for JJ’s shit.

JJ recognises that there’s a possibility for John B to leave the OBX too, is fully aware that he has all the potential to do so, yet he knows that John B will always remain his constant.

They’ve been through too much together, shared far too many similar experiences and intimate moments, for their friendship to weaken or change over the course of time.

John B is JJ’s life companion, full and through.

JJ’s moment of contemplation comes to a screeching halt as his knees buckle beneath him, with his vice-like grip on the worn-down window seal the only thing preventing him from collapsing face first into the dirt. A frustrated sob escapes him involuntarily, his breath hitching as he begins to crumple under the pressures of his fucked up life. 

His teeth find the soft flesh of his lower lip, biting down hard in an attempt to muffle his sobs. He blinks away the moisture buildings behind his eyes rapidly, angry at himself for letting his facade slip.

_Pull it the fuck together,_ JJ thinks to himself _, don’t be weak._

JJ opens his eyes, apparently having closed them during his crisis, to squint into the bedroom lying beyond the layer of dirty, smudged glass, the outline of John B’s sleeping figure and wild bed head illuminated by the soft glow of the small lamp situated beside his bed.

JJ tests the window, shoving it with his shoulder hard in an attempt to get it to open. But, as luck would fucking have it, the window was locked.

JJ can count the amount of times he’s entered the chateau through John B’s window on one hand, so it would make sense for John B to lock it. Usually, JJ would barge into the place like he owned it, a smirk pulling at his split lip as he announced his presence.

Once again, JJ curses Big John’s decision to resurface.

He left the chateau when Big John had returned to give John B some time alone with his dad, but now he was seriously regretting it. _Last time I’ll be fucking considerate to Big John,_ JJ thinks to himself bitterly. The pounding in JJ’s head intensifies as he raises a trembling hand to the glass, smacking against it gently.

“John B” JJ calls quietly, hoping that his voice penetrates through the thin glass

The lump beneath the covers doesn’t move. Curse John B and his fuckin sleeping habits. He barely sleeps most days yet was out cold when he finally succumbs to his exhaustion. JJ loves John B, but sometimes he just wants to sock him in the face for his shitty fucking timing.

“I swear if you don’t move, JB” JJ tries again, tapping the glass twice with slightly more force

JJ really hopes he doesn’t have to call out to John B again, because _fuck_ his throat hurts. His voice is gravely and his throat is raw, the act of swallowing only accentuating the ache.

Whether his throat hurt as a result of his dad chocking him or the frustrated screams torn from his mouth in the immediate aftermath of the fight, JJ wasn’t sure.

The universe seemed to hear JJ’s prayers and take a small amount of pity on him as John B _finally_ moves, emerging from his cocoon of pillows and blankets. He looks around his room, dazed and still half asleep, before his gaze shifts to meet JJ’s, blinking owlishly at him.

It’s clear that John B isn’t processing what’s happening, so JJ makes a circular motion with his finger and points to the window, signalling for John B to unlock it.

John B only blinks in response and JJ is genuinely considering picking up a rock and smashing the god damn fucking window to get his request through John B’s thick skull.

The confusion suddenly clears from John B’s face as his finally, _finally_ understands, his eyes wide and alert as he rushes to open the window.

Which would have been fine, had JJ’s body not decided to completely fail him in that exact moment.

A chill seems to run over JJ’s body as he distantly feels himself collide with the dirt ground, a dull pain blossoming across his hip as it collides with the crate on his way down. A buzzing sound invades JJ’s ears as his senses seem to abandon him, his vision darkening by the second.

He thinks he can hear John B’s quiet yell of distress, feel hands on his body shortly after, but he’s too confused and dazed and fucking tired to give it a second thought.

_Fuck it,_ JJ thinks as he fades away, _I’m sleeping outside next time_

John B’s not sure the word ‘normal’ has a definitive meaning, but he’s certain that whatever it means, it was no way to describe his home life. 

His dad will disappear at random times for no apparent reason, with the amount of rent and food money left for John B the only indication of how long he’ll be gone. No note, no parting words, nothing. 

John B has come to compare his father to a ghost, appearing at random intervals to interact before disappearing again, whether up the coast or out to sea.

His presence still lingers even in the wake of his absence, with John B’s mind always coming back to his father. It’s always been terrifying to John B. Not knowing when, or if, or how, his dad will return home to him.

He stays up well into the night, heart pounding and palms sweating, as his mind spirals. Is his dad ok? Is he hurt? Is he coming home in one piece? Or in a coffin?

He tries to dissect his dad’s intention. He’s searching for the gold because he loves him, right? So him and John B can have a better life together? _But what if he’s not?_ a darker part of his mind always hisses venomously, _what if he’s just sick of you?_

That thought upsets John B more than he cares to admit. It’s the only question he can never answer, or dismiss as mere bullshit, because he _doesn’t fucking know._

He knows his dad has done a lot for him in his life, and he’s pretty sure that parents are meant to love their kids no matter what, but he’s also pretty sure that parents aren’t meant to disappear for weeks on end with no form of communication.

What if his dad is searching for the gold because he’s sick of John B, just like his mum? What if he’s only searching for the gold to move far away from the Outer Banks, from John B? Is John B a part of his father’s plans when he finds the gold? Or is he just an inconvenience?

The thought never fails to drive the air out of John B’s lungs. So, he shuts down. He emotionally detaches himself from his relationship with his dad, tries to convince himself that he could survive without him, if necessary. He’s been doing it for years anyway. He has the pogues now, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have a family.

His dad could do what he wanted with the money, and he’d be fine either way.

He tells himself that he really doesn’t need his dad at home all the time, insists that it’s no big deal that his dad doesn’t ask him about his day or doesn’t notice if John B’s sad, or happy, or mad, or doesn’t care what he does.

He’s fifteen years old, an adult for all intents and purposes. He’s been on his own for years, he doesn’t need a parent to come help him now.

John B gets mad at his father as well. Like, really fucking mad. He’ll pace rapidly and grind his teeth together and pull at his hair, growls and snarls escaping his body as he kicks whatever garbage decorates the floor.

He gets pissed at his dad for caring about a fucking shipwreck more than his own son, spending money on research material instead of rent or household bills. He swears off talking to his dad when he returns, determined not to give him another chance to apologise and fill his ears with empty promises.

If his dad isn’t going to put in the effort with him, he’s not going to try and initiate some meaningless, superficial interaction. His dad can just be like a roommate whenever he’s home, and then John B can move out and have low contact with his dad.

It won’t be much different than his current situation.

John B’s stubborn, so he’s confident that he’ll be able to stand his ground. And for a short while, he does.

When Big John bursts through the door of the chateau after one of his trips, bright eyed and beaming, John B starts off strong. He’ll mumble a curt ‘morning,’ to his dad before finding a job to do around the house, or a place to be. He’ll avoid his dad like the plague with great success, only feeling the slightest bit of guilt at not interacting with him.

He’ll eat dinner with his dad at the end of the day, offering short, vague responses to his father’s questions about his friends, or his grades, or his job. He’ll push down any hope that arises that tells him that this time is different.

But when Big John stands up after dinner, his arms reaching to pull John B into a warm, loving embrace, John B cracks. He indulges in the feeling of being held because it’s all he _fucking_ wants, feels his father’s steady heartbeat and the consistent rhythm of his hands caressing the back of John B’s head.

He tells himself that his dad is here, warm and alive, and he cares, that he’s changed and realised some shipwreck is nowhere near as important as his own son.

Hope will blossom in his chest as he lets his father’s voice wash over him like the early morning light, detailing his latest treasure hunting adventure and promising John B that they were close to finding the gold.

A smile would tug at John B’s lips as he felt his father press his lips to his hairline when John B begins to drift off to sleep, whispering promises of a better life and declarations of parental love.

And for a while, things are great. He’ll wake up to the smell of pancakes cooking, entering the kitchen to find his dad dancing like a madmen to bohemian rhapsody in his ‘kiss the cook’ apron. His dad will ruffle his hair in greeting, squeeze his shoulder affectionately as he passes by. He’ll decorate John B’s pancake with chocolate chips in the shape of a smiley face, presenting it to him proudly with freshly made orange juice.

His dad would insist, through a mouthful of pancakes and syrup, that the two do something together that day, and that John B gets to pick the activity. So they’d go fishing, or surfing, or go driving up the coast in the twinkie. His dad would always insist on ice cream after lunch, claiming that _‘a growing boy needs calcium, son, and old men like me need a sugar hit.’_

They’d return home and watch a movie before Big John orders John B to bed like any responsible parent should, threatening him with the possibility of no extra pancakes the next morning if he stays up too late. It’s domestic, and healthy, and it’s everything John B ever dreams of when his father is away.

John B should be satisfied, _happy,_ during the good times, yet somehow all he feels is unsettled, unfamiliar. Even though he loves when his dad acts like a caring parent, John B can’t help but feel disconnected during the happy moments.

In those moments, it feels as if John B is watching his life from a distance. He’ll see his dad and him, laughing and smiling, and he knows that this is healthy, that this is what a parent-child relationship is meant to look like, yet it feels so fucking wrong. It’s so normal to other people, yet so fucking foreign to John B.

John B loves his dad, and he loves the happy moments, but he can’t help but wish his dad would just leave shortly after he arrives at home.

Being his dad’s son only when Big John feels like being a parent is getting really old.

He wants his dad to invest his time fully into John B, or none at all, because he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to handle the uncertainty of if his dad is gonna stay or go. It’s easier when he does leave, because then John B can return back to normal. Back to _his_ normal.

The normal where he’s much more familiar with his dad being gone, where he’s more comfortable living by himself than living with his dad.

The normal where he talked to people about his life because he wanted to, not because he hoped that the reminder of what they were missing would persuade them enough to stay.

The normal where John B worries about where his dad was, because it was easier to worry about that than anxiously await the next time Big John leaves and breaks his heart.

The normal where John B could see how fucked up and unstable his life instead of living under a false pretence of domestic bliss, only for reality to smack him hard in the face as he realises his dad will never be the parent he needs.

His normal is not happy or domestic or cosy. His normal is cold, and it’s lonely, and it’s frankly depressing as shit, but his normal is real and continual.

Something, he’s come to realise, that Big John’s presence in his life will never be.

From what John B can comprehend about healthy parent-child relationships, his father’s presence is _meant_ to be a constant. Yet, despite the fact that Big John is meant to claim that title, the only person John B would consider a constant is JJ.

His presence around the chateau _is_ persistent and grounding, an anchor for John B when he’s sinking. JJ’s loud and energised and always vocalising his presence in the house, always pressed up against John B’s side or showing him some small form of affection.

He engages John B in conversation when he’s been quiet for too long, drags him out of the house and onto the HMS pogue under the pretence that he’s _‘bored as fucking shit.’_

JJ is a constant reminder that he’ll never be alone, the only person that ever successfully satisfies John B’s innate desire to be heard and listened to.

JJ never asks John B how he’s doing, because he already knows. The two have known each other long enough to be able to communicate without words, because they know it’s easier to ignore their trauma rather than work their way through the many complex layers of it.

Pope and Kie ask about how he’s dealing with his dad’s constant absence, always grill him on his feelings, and he appreciates their efforts, but they’ll never get it.

JJ’s the only person that works to create a sense of ordinariness for him, selectively ignoring how fucked up John B’s situation is in favour of distracting him. 

To the naked eye, JJ may seem chaotic and impulsive, far too ADHD to stick to routine. And, to a certain degree, they’re right.

But to John B, JJ is his normal, his presence far more familiar and safer to John B than his own fathers.

In the rare instance that JJ does leave John B’s side, whether it’s to go up the coast to his cousin to get more weed or to sneak back to Luke’s house to get some clothes, he makes sure to communicate his plans to John B in detail, something Big John has never bothered to do.

When JJ walks out the door, John B knows he’ll fight tooth and nail to find his way back to him.

He can’t exactly say the same about his dad.

JJ quietens the voices in John B’s head, his presence effortlessly easing the knots in his stomach.

So, when JJ left a couple of days ago, spouting some bullshit about how he didn’t want to _‘take up time you should spend with your dad, man,’_ the anxiety had hit him full force. Without JJ’s grounding presence, his hands trembled more and his heart thundered loudly in his chest, fears and insecurities spreading through his mind like wildfire.

The sense of familiarity JJ brings with him is absent and Big John is back, pretending that he was some caring father that wouldn’t leave on a week-long sea voyage at the drop of a hat.

John B tried to enjoy his time with his dad, he really did. He talked to him about superficial 15-year-old problems, laughed as Big John told another shitty dad joke.

He tried to enjoy the meal his father had picked up from the wreck, willed his brain to stop fucking thinking and be grateful for the moments he could have with his dad.

But in the end, he couldn’t pretend that things would be fine.

That he wouldn’t wake up one of these days to find his dad had left him once again.

So, he retires to his bed early, giving his dad a vague excuse about not feeling well. He kept his head down the entire time, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold it together if he looked up to see his dad feigning worry. Like he _actually_ gave a shit.

The relief of escaping a night with his dad relief is short-lived as John B makes the mistake of pulling out his phone, groaning in despair when he sees he still has no messages from JJ. Three days of total radio silence from his best friend. JJ never clarified where he was going to stay when Big John returned home, silencing John B’s questioning with a finger pressed to his lips and an airy _‘classified information’_ thrown over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

He hopes JJ wouldn’t be stupid enough to return home to Luke, but even after 8 years of knowing JJ, his thought process was still a mystery to John B sometimes.

Sighing in defeat, John B resides himself to the fact that tonight will most definitely be another night riddled with anxiety and philosophical contemplation, dragging himself over to his bed and pulling on one of JJ’s many hoodies that were left lying around.

He grabs his computer and logs into Netflix, hoping that seeing someone’s life fall apart on the screen will make him feel better about his own.

Long shadows dance across John B’s bedroom wall as he settles in for the night, cocooning himself in layers of blankets in a weak attempt to stimulate physical affection.

The hoodie smells like weed and spiced rum and _JJ,_ providing him both comfort and disappointment. He wishes more than anything right now that his best friend would walk through the doors of the chateau, announcing his presence in the most JJ way possible: loud and obnoxious.

He longs for the comfort and familiarity JJ’s presence brings, wishes it was JJ here with him watching Netflix, solid and warm, instead of just his signature scent. His gaze unconsciously shifts towards the phone every couple of minutes, hoping against all hope for a call or a text or _something._ But, no matter how much John B manifests it, his prayers seem to fall on death ears.

The exhaustion of both having to interact with his dad and worry about JJ hits John B like a ton of bricks, his eyes becoming heavier and blinks slower. His laptop is casting a soft glow around the now darkened room, the rhythmic pulsing of the artificial light strangely lulling.

The nocturnal world begins to come to life outside the chateau, the whistling breeze carrying the symphonised hum of the night’s creatures directly to John B’s window.

John B feels his eyes drooping closed and this time he’s far too tired to fight it, slipping into the waiting arms of unconsciousness.

John B’s not sure how long he’s been asleep for when his body attempts to rouse him from his slumber. He’s barely awake and can feel every nerve in his body screaming at him to open his eyes.

Despite this fact, John B is so warm and comfortable and tired, and he’s still not ready to deal with the bullshit that awaits him when he opens his eyes, so he lays still, even as he hears a light thud outside followed by the low murmur of something.

A part of John B is telling him to move his ass, go investigate whatever the sound was, but the exhausted part of him wins, so he dismisses the sound as an animal and begins to slip back into sleep.

He’s _so_ close to escaping back to the blissful world of nothingness when two thuds break through the silence, followed by the same murmur that sounds distinctly more human the second time round.

Sighing silently to himself, John B realises he won’t be getting any sleep until he deals with whatever’s outside his room, so he emerges from his blanket fort with great effort, his eyes searching his room.

At first, his dazed, half-asleep brain can’t pinpoint anything wrong in the room. There’s no armed burglar, nothing on fire that he can see. He’s about to give up and pass out again when he spots movement from the corner of his eye, switching his gaze from the interior of his room to the window. 

John B is prepared to see a variety of different things at the window when his gaze shifts to look at it.

A tree branch maybe, possibly an animal.

Hell, even the local homeless guy that lives at the bus stop down the street.

But the last thing John B expects to see when he looks at the window is JJ, his battered face pressed up against the smudged glass at 12 o’clock at fucking night.

His brain can’t comprehend what he’s seeing at first. He stares at JJ dumbly as he tries to understand why JJ would be at his window at this hour, or why he wouldn’t enter via the front door at the very least.

His brain is working overtime as he tries to connect the dots, his confusion progressing further when JJ creates a circular motion with his finger before pointing to his window. It takes JJ staring at him in utter disbelief, as if he can’t believe John B doesn’t understand, before it finally clicks in John B’s head.

He’s awake and alert instantly, not wasting a second more before jumping to his feet and rushing over to the window. His hand is on the latch, fingers pushing forcefully against the glass, when he sees JJ collapse, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his body collides with the dusty ground.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion after that.

He hears himself make a noise of distress before he’s out the door, relying purely on muscle memory to lead him through the house. The thought of the noise alerting his dad doesn’t even cross John B’s mind, with his only thoughts being on JJ.

_JJ, JJ, JJ._

He makes it outside in record time, crashing to his knees beside JJ’s broken figure.

John B has to take a moment to remember how to breathe, trying to calm the rage that flows through his veins at the sight of JJ’s mangled body. JJ looks like a mess. Dark purple bruises decorate the delicate skin surrounding JJ’s neck, bruises painted across the rest of his visible limbs like cosmos scattered throughout the sky. JJ’s broken ribs are evident through the holes in his faded red muscle tee, the array of vibrant bruises a stark contrast to JJ’s pale, sickly complexion. His lip, only just recently healed from one of Luke’s previous displays of fatherly affection, is split once again, the blood coating JJ’s teeth in a thin layer of crimson. 

John B’s become accustomed to patching JJ up over the years, but it doesn’t mean it gets any easier.

Arms working on instinct, John B tries in vain to rouse JJ from his unconscious state, rubbing one hand up and down his friend’s sternum while the other lightly taps JJ’s bruised cheek, keeping his voice low and gentle in hopes of coaxing JJ back into the land of the living.

“JJ” John B says gently, pressing his hand against JJ’s cheek “can you hear me, buddy?”

Unsurprisingly, his question is met with nothing but a painful silence, not even the slightest movement of JJ’s hand or face. John B’s starting to shiver at this point, and he can feel goose bumps lining JJ’s skin, but his legs refuse to move.

He needs JJ to be conscience and responsive and talking to him like _yesterday,_ and even though the logical part of his brain is screaming loudly at him to get JJ inside, the emotional side of him wins, because he needs verbal fucking confirmation that JJ is still here with him.

“J” John B tries again, intentionally raising his voice in order to try and rouse JJ “I’m going to need you to give me a sign you can still hear me, otherwise I’ll have to take you to the hospital”

In any other instant, John B would never threaten JJ with the hospital. Both boys knew a trip to the hospital would only end in JJ being ripped away from the only sense of safety and security he’s ever had, so they avoid it like the plague.

John B _really_ doesn’t want to take JJ to the hospital this time and is going to avoid doing so at all costs, but the threat of a hospital is the last thing he can think of to get JJ to engage with him.

Thankfully, his attempt seems to work, with JJ’s fear of hospital visits penetrating through his unconscious state to formulate a low, incoherent mumble.

John B releases a breath he didn’t realise he’d be holding, inhaling deeply through his nose in a vague attempt to calm his racing heart. Ok, so JJ’s not brain dead. He can work with that.

His feelings of relief are soon replaced by dread as John B realises he’s going to have to carry JJ through chateau.

This is far from an uncommon occurrence. In fact, it happens far too often for John B’s liking, but his father’s presence in the chateau makes the ordeal much more complicated this time around.

John B’s fairly decent at lying, but he doesn’t think he can talk his way out of carrying an unconscious, bruised JJ into the chateau if his dad catches him.

Unconsciously rubbing a hand up and down JJ’s arm, John B racks his brain for a solution. His house is old as hell, and consequently, noisy as hell. Floorboards squeak and doors creak and it’s the most inconvenient _fucking_ thing when you’re trying to sneak your beaten up best friend in.

John B doesn’t even realise his breathing has sped up until JJ moans quietly in discomfort, seemingly able to sense John B’s anxiety about the situation. He quickly settles as John B hushes him, gently rubbing his shoulder.

John B _really_ doesn’t want to leave JJ in the state he’s in, but he quickly comes to the realisation that he has no other choice. He has to stake out the house and where his dad is before he can even think about helping JJ.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, John B gives JJ’s arm a final comforting rub before standing up from his crouched position, quietly making his way onto the porch.

The living room of the chateau seems to glimmer under the dim glow of the full moon, with the room appearing peaceful and calming basked in the pale light. John B momentarily forgets the shitshow that is his life, mesmerised by the shadows dancing across his living rooms walls. For a moment, things feel serene.

Only for a moment though.

His father’s hushed voice breaks through the thick silence lingering in the house, the slightly open door of his office spilling a small amount of artificial light into the hallway.

Making sure to avoid the creaky floorboards, John B sneaks over to the door of his father’s study, looking through the crack in the door and into the brightly-lit room.

His father appears to be in a deep, intense conversation with the person on the other end of the line, pacing back and forth erratically. His voice is too quiet for John B to understand any of the conversation, but an air of excitement and anticipation seems to surround his father, his eyes wide and animated.

It’s clear by the way that John B’s gaze isn’t detected by Big John that his father is far too focused on his conversation to notice anything else going on in the house. A win, and a loss.

It’s one of the warning signs that his dad will vanish in a day or two, but John B pushes down the anxiety of that thought. He’ll deal with his shit after he deals with JJ’s. 

John B’s movements are light and quick as he makes his way back outside, fingers immediately travelling to the pulse point on JJ’s neck the second he’s close enough to touch his friend.

He knows JJ’s condition wouldn’t have worsened dramatically in the 45 seconds he was in the house, but he couldn’t help but need reassurance that JJ real, and alive, and with him. 

JJ’s pulse is erratic and too fast and probably really abnormal compared to a person with a non-abusive parent, but it’s there, strong and _authentic,_ beneath the splatter of dark purple bruises.

“I’m just take you inside, J” John B mutters out loud, picking JJ up bridal style “it’ll be a lot comfier than the ground”

Whether John B’s narrating his actions out loud to comfort JJ or himself, he’s not too sure, but it’s better than the suffocating silence that surrounds them.

Considering they’re out in the open, in the cool, fresh air, John B’s finding it really fucking hard to breathe.

JJ’s too light in his arms, the chronic malnutrition far too evident despite John B’s continuous efforts to provide nutrients to JJ.

JJ has always put up a realistic tough-guy façade, one John B finds himself falling for more often than he probably should, but in moments like this, where JJ lies beaten and delicate and vulnerable in his arms, John B is reminded of just how helpless JJ is. 

_It’s so fucked,_ John B thinks as head quietly opens the front door, supporting JJ’s head as it lulls to the side, _he’s just a fucking kid._

He tries to ignore the tears blurring his vision as he focuses his attention on stepping on the right floorboards, holding his breath as he inches his way past his dad’s study.

The slight creak of a floorboard stops John B in his tracks, clutching onto JJ tighter as he holds his breath in anticipation. His eyes are glued to his father’s study, the prospect of the door opening or his father’s voice calling out sending his heart thundering in his chest.

Seconds feel like minutes and minute feel like hours as John B stands in the darkened hallway, torn between escaping to the safety of his room and staying put to avoid getting caught out.

In the end, he chooses the former option, quietly but quickly making his way towards his door.

The air seems much more pure in the safety of John B’s own room, his lungs expanding rapidly as he tries to stop his heart from imploding. JJ shifts beneath him, seeming to sense the change in mood and location, and nearly rolls out of John B’s arms in the process, sending his heart skyrocketing once again. Placing JJ down on his messy, unkept bed fills John B with an indescribable amount of relief, and for the first time that night, he feels like he can breathe.

JJ may not be ok, and he might not _ever_ be ok, and it’s fucked, but John B indulges in the feeling of knowing he can keep JJ safe.

It’s a feeling he tries never to take for granted, because he never knows how long it will last. 

John B’s body takes over at some point when his mind disconnects. He’s patched JJ up well over a hundred times throughout his life, so the routine is deeply ingrained into both his mind and body. His hands move to their own accord, cleaning the blood off JJ’s fragile body and checking for any possible head injury. He prods gently at JJ’s ribs in an attempt to assess the damage, his breath hitching instinctually as he sees the full extent of what Luke did to JJ. 

John B knows he wished that JJ could be with him earlier in the night, but he didn’t fucking want it to be like this.

John B is unaware of how much time has passed when he ventures out into the kitchen after cleaning JJ up, intent on getting a glass of water and a couple of painkillers for his friend when he inevitably wakes up in pain. He’s about to head back to his room, intending to pass out next to JJ, when something catches his eye on the kitchen table.

Money. Fucking money.

It’s organised in two hastily put-together piles, the bills crumpled and worn. He knows immediately what they’re for. Rent and food.

His dad’s gone again.

John B can’t help himself. He laughs.

Hysterical, breathless laughter escapes his mouth as he throws his head back, his figure shaking as he giggles into the cool night air. He leans against the kitchen bench for support as his knees grow weak, the laughter flowing out of his mouth showing no signs of stopping.

He doesn’t know why he started laughing, and he doesn’t know how to fucking stop, and each time he looks at the money he laughs a little harder. His head is starting to feel funny from all the laughing, but he can’t bring himself to care, tears sliding down his cheeks as he gasps desperately for air.

His dad left, _finally._

The sight of the money is becoming funnier the more he stares at it and John B really needs to catch his fucking breath, so he drags himself down the hall towards his bedroom, an arm clutching his stomach as it clenches painfully with each laugh.

He’s still giggling when he reaches his bedroom door, the hand not slung across his torso coming to rest over his mouth in an attempt to smother his laughter. No need to wake JJ up with his crisis. 

John B enters the room to find that JJ had, unsurprisingly, not moved, his body too drained to be bothered to do something as unnecessary as switch sleeping positions. The pale moonlight spilling into the room illuminates JJ’s figure, the blood and bruises that decorate his body on full display. Hazel eyes wander up and down the endless discoloured patches of JJ’s skin, visual reminders of a reality John B has failed to protect him from.

John B’s still laughing, his gaze fixated on the beaten body of his best friend, when he tastes something wet and salty, the moisture out of place on his chapped, dry lips. He lifts a hand to his face and stares confusedly at it comes back wet, his exhausted brain trying and failing to narrow down the potential causes.

It isn’t until his breath catches in his throat, and a sob involuntarily escapes him, that John B realises he’s crying.

He doesn’t even have time to process the rapid change in emotion before his laughter turns into loud, ugly sobs, tears rapidly falling from his eyes. He clenches his teeth together, not wanting to wake JJ, but when he looks over and sees JJ still fast asleep, seemingly too exhausted to be woken up even by John B’s loud crying, he decides to be selfish for a moment, and lets himself cry.

He cries for the stability he never had, and probably never will.

He cries for the parents that was never there, one physically, one emotionally.

He cries for JJ, his fucking best friend, who keeps getting hit and beat down, and the fact that there’s nothing he can do about it.

He cries because this situation will happen time and time again, with no end in sight.

He cries and grieves for the innocence that was ripped away from him too early in life, and at the knowledge that he’ll never get it back.

John B knows JJ would go to the ends of the earth for him. His loyalty is undeniable, and terrifying at times, and he has more compassion than anyone he’s ever known. His compassion is hidden behind sarcasm and awkward shoulder pats, distinctly JJ, but present nevertheless.

John B knows if JJ woke up to see him crying, the last thing he would do is judge. Instead, JJ would sit by him, making sure their thighs or shoulders are touching. He’d feel uncomfortable as hell, and sit stiff and tense, but he’d show support in the only way he knew how. 

But beyond that, past the exterior displays of physical comfort, JJ would take John B’s problems on himself. He’d analyse them and try to come up with a solution to improve John B’s situation, reading articles during his breaks at work, asking around the cut, anything.

JJ would go above and beyond, sacrifice everything, just so John B could be happy.

Which is exactly why John B refuses to break in front of him.

John B cares way too much about JJ to see him waste time on his shitty, irrelevant problems. JJ’s got enough on his plate with Luke, and John B sees no reason why he should burden JJ with the issues of his own homelife. JJ already knows them, of course, he’s been there to witness them and has comforted John B the best he can, but John B will never tell him the true extent of his problems. 

Maybe JJ will burn out eventually ( _maybe they both will),_ but John B refuses to let him run himself into the ground trying to repair something that’s been unfixable for years.

The world is in the very early stages of coming to life by the time John B runs out of tears to cry, when his weeping turns into hiccups which turns into nasally sniffles. Yawns replace the sobs exiting his mouth, long eyelashes tickling tear-stained cheeks as his eyes close in raw, pure exhaustion.

John B knows that his demons will still be there to greet him when he wakes up, but he figures that a few hours sleep won’t hurt.

_Afterall_ , he thinks, _it can’t get much worse than it already is._

The sun is shining through John B’s bedroom window, bright and annoying, when he wakes up for the second time, groaning as he tries in vain to shield his eyes from the light. His skin is hot and his hair is already puffy from the thick, humid air, UV rays licking at his bronzed body. He can sense, even half-asleep, that today will be suffocatingly hot. Vaguely, he wonders why the smell of pancakes hasn’t reached his room, before the events of last night come flooding back to him like a tidal wave.

Fresh tears force their way out of John B’s tightly clenched eyes, his heart rate climbing steadily as his brain remembers the painful reality waiting to greet him when he returns to the land of the living. He knows he should rip the band aid off, process or ignore whatever emotions he has about the situation, but sleep sounds so much better. He can ignore how sore his eyes are and how badly his throat aches, avoid the fact that his dad left him for an undetermined period of time and he barely has enough money to get him through the week.

He can tell by the lack of warmth and weight next to him that he’s alone in the bed. The thought sends his heart racing momentarily, fearing JJ had gone back to Luke, before JJ’s faint humming is delivered to him by a strong gust of hot wind, the sound angelic to his ears. He uses the voice to ground himself, letting it guide him through the wave of emotions crashing over him.

Sleep sounds amazing, but JJ’s company sounds better.

Counting down from three, John B forces himself out of the comfort of his bed, drifting numbly through his house. He barely registers his bare feet padding along the wooden floors of the chateau, his mind seemingly disconnected from his body. JJ’s humming becomes louder as John B ventures out onto the porch, his feet moving instinctually towards the sound. Towards safety.

Wordlessly, he sits down beside JJ on the dock, accepting the half-smoked joint silently offered to him. He takes a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, before he exhales slowly, focusing his gaze on the blazing sun. The sun washes him and JJ in a glorious golden light, its harsh rays radiating off their bronzed bodies. It makes John B’s dark circles look like art, and JJ’s scars like poetry.

After a while of sitting, John B feels movement next to him, glancing over to see JJ adjusting his body so that their shoulders are pressed together. They look at the same sun, at the same time, dealing with, or maybe avoiding, their own separate issues. No words are exchanged between the two. No words can justify or explain the pain they’ve been through.

Two broken kids sit on a dock, barely hanging on by a string. They might not have much hope, or stability, but they have each other. And for now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations if you've made it this far, I know this one was LONG!! 
> 
> Comments really do keep me going at the end of the day. They're my best form of motivation and really drive me to do better each time, so if you feel inclined to please comment on how good/bad the fic was or leave feedback for future reference! Thank-you for taking the time to read :)


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